


No Scratching

by cowboyguy



Series: Frayed 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curtain Fic, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Hell Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Allergies, Sensory Processing Disorder, Sick Sam Winchester, sensory issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/pseuds/cowboyguy
Summary: Post-Hell Sam develops spring allergies and has a hard time dealing with them.





	No Scratching

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as a fill for a prompt in [tarotgal's 2014 commentfic meme](http://tarotgal.livejournal.com/905764.html). (And is so far the only Frayed fic without a Beatles title.)
> 
> This is a short ficlet in the Frayed 'verse, where Sam has come back from Hell with a lot of traumatic memories and a whole host of sensory issues, and Dean does his best to take care of his little brother.

It was a long sleeves week for Sam. Two days before, Dean had caught Sam scratching slowly at his own arms, and had immediately mandated the wearing of long sleeves until Sam stopped. Sometimes it was like that. Sometimes Sam just couldn’t comprehend the fact that he lived in a world without constant pain, so he started creating his own pain instead. It wasn’t usually very serious — most of the time, anyway — but Dean hated to see his brother hurting himself.

So Sam was wearing all his comfy long sleeved shirts, which mostly helped keep the restless hands under control. Instead, he’d play with the ends of his sleeves, twisting them back and forth in his fingers.

_(Rule number 419 in the New Sam handbook: When Sam gets twitchy hands, bundle him up in as many layers as necessary.)_

And then, because Sam’s post-Hell body never stopped surprising them, he’d picked this week to suddenly develop spring allergies. It hadn’t been bad the year before, when he first got back, but by then the season had mostly been over. Everything had already bloomed, and they’d spent a lot of time on the road moving from town to town. This year, they were settled in one place, which gave the pollen time to get into Sam’s system and make him itchy and stuffed-up.

This morning, Dean woke up to find Sam sprawled across the bed next to him, both palms pressed against his sinuses.

 _“Nnnnngh,”_ Sam groaned, low in his throat, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Allergies?” Dean asked sympathetically.

“This is not a good feeling.” Sam nodded, rolling onto his side and lowering one hand to look at Dean. “Can I go back to sleep? Can I sleep until summer?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second,” Dean answered. “People don’t generally hibernate.”

Sam closed his eyes again, scratching at the side of his nose. “It’s just so _itchy.”_

“Shh, it’s okay.” Dean took Sam’s hands gently in his own, holding them away from his face. “I’ll break out the Benadryl and you can take some of that and go back to sleep. How does that sound?”

Sam nodded, fingers twitching in Dean’s grasp. “Okay.”

“Good. Be right back.” He let go of his brother and rolled out of bed, walking barefoot into the bathroom where they kept all the pills. He dug through the drawer, locating the little pink and blue box, and tore one dose off of the foil-covered sheet. When he turned around, Sam was standing there behind him, blinking slowly.

“Thought you were staying in bed,” Dean commented, amused.

“I… yeah. No. …I don’t know.” Sam replied, rubbing his itchy nose against the edge of his sleeve.

“Uh-huh.” Dean reached up with one hand and held onto Sam’s shoulder, directing him back into the bedroom. “Another sign you really shouldn’t be out of bed yet. Here.” He popped the pills out of their little foil packets and handed them to Sam, along with the glass of water that still sat at his bedside.

Sam obediently swallowed the pills and then stood there, shifting restlessly and waiting for direction.

“What next, Sam?” Dean prompted.

Sam paused for a moment, then glanced toward the bed. He climbed back under the covers, staring up at Dean. “Will I feel better when I wake up?” he asked.

“I hope so,” Dean answered, handing him one of the soft blankets that had been kicked to the foot of the bed. “Hang onto that. No scratching.” He watched as Sam settled onto his stomach, one hand pillowed under his head and the other rubbing drowsily at his nose. “Feel better, Sammy,” Dean said quietly as Sam closed his eyes and slowly drifted back to sleep.


End file.
